


Game and Match

by Minuial_Nuwing



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works
Genre: Dysfunctional Relationships, Fourth Age, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-07
Updated: 2011-09-03
Packaged: 2017-11-09 13:07:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 8,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/455793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Minuial_Nuwing/pseuds/Minuial_Nuwing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ugly game of control and provocation threatens the fabric of life in Fourth Age Imladris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Obsession

**Author's Note:**

> ***Warnings:** A toxically dysfunctional relationship that, while consensual, bears no resemblance to any healthy D/s partnership; characters behaving in an unusual and unpleasant manner, references to violence; one instance of mild knife play and mention of blood
> 
> ***A/N:** Well, yes. This started out to be a set of connected ficlets, but seems to have turned into a sequence of sporadic 500 word chapters comprising a single tale of sorts. Or not. 
> 
> Whatever it is, please, **_read the warnings._**
> 
> **********************

## Obsession

_~Imladris, 119 IV~_

Elladan leaned back in the vaguely imposing desk chair that he had inherited from his father and sipped at his tea. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he said blandly, his expression unreadable through a cloud of steam.

“Of course you do,” Elrohir snapped, grimacing as he took a less-than-careful gulp from his own mug. “It was good of you to take Ada’s chambers and leave our suite to my family, but we do still share a corridor.” He pinned Elladan with a piercing stare. “We share a corridor, ‘Dan, and my sons are beginning to ask questions that I do not yet care to answer.”

“What I do in my bedroom is none of your concern, ‘Roh,” Elladan replied, regarding his brother through narrowed eyes. "None at all."

“It becomes my concern when my family cannot sleep for the cracking and keening,” Elrohir retorted sharply, then visibly reined in his temper. “It becomes my concern when it threatens to overwhelm everything else that you are.” 

“Leave it,” Elladan commanded, his jaw tightening ominously.

_“No,”_ Elrohir spat, coming to his feet and, across the gleaming desk, Elladan stood to face him. “I will _not._ I will not watch you destroy yourself.” There was an infinitesimal pause. “Or him.” Elrohir’s tone gentled, became almost pleading. “This…this _obsession_ is devouring you, tôren,” he said. “When was the last time you made love simply for the joy of it? Or spent an evening in the Hall?” 

Elladan’s expression darkened dangerously, but Elrohir paid him no heed.

“You work the days away and spend your evenings locked in your suite, knee deep in guilt and leather and pain. You have no time for your friends, no time for your nephews-“ Elrohir’s voice faltered slightly as he met his brother’s eyes. “No time for me.”

The words fell away into silence as the twins stared at one another, and for a brief instant Elladan’s face softened and Elrohir hoped, then the moment was gone.

“Jealous, are you?” Elladan taunted, his voice venomously quiet. His eyes raked his brother’s body, the glance insolently appraising. “Sorry, Elrohir,” he drawled mockingly, “but you really aren’t my type.”

The tea was scalding hot and it hit him full in the face, leaving Elladan momentarily blinded and cursing as Elrohir stalked from the office, slamming the door with a force that made the stone floor tremble.

Elladan jerked savagely on the tasseled bell rope, scowling at the maid who appeared as if by magic. “Get me a towel,” he ordered tersely.

The girl’s eyes widened as she took in Elladan’s red-blotched face and the ruined desk, but she was far too well-trained to offer comment. “Yes, my lord,” she said quickly, turning to go. 

“Wait!” Elladan snapped irritably, wiping at his burning cheeks. “I am not finished.” His expression clouded further. “Bring me a towel, and then find Maglor. Send him here.”

The maid’s face remained emotionless. “Yes, my lord,” she repeated, then slipped silently from the room.

 

*~*~*~*~*


	2. A Bit of Amusement

##  A Bit of Amusement

Maglor looked up from the blade he was whetting, his lips twisting in a peculiar, self-mocking grin.

"Please, my lord," the maid repeated, "Lord Elladan wanted me to find you right away and ask you to come to his study."

"Said _please,_ did he?" Maglor asked the fidgeting girl. "All polite and proper?" Then he caught a glimpse of Glorfindel's reproving stare and relented. "Never mind, child," he said gently. "Tell Lord Elladan that you have delivered his message, and that I will be there shortly."

The maid nodded gratefully and vanished with a hurried curtsy. Maglor watched her go, an indecipherable expression on his face.

"It isn't fair to involve the staff in your games, you know," Glorfindel said mildly, picking up his own sword and sighting down the blade. 

"Probably not," Maglor allowed, polishing his newly-sharpened weapon with a decided lack of haste. "But surely I am entitled to my bit of amusement? I caused the girl no real trouble."

Glorfindel put down his sword and turned to face Maglor. "You are entitled to more than amusement," he replied, watching his old friend's face carefully, "as is Elladan." Maglor threw up a hand, but Glorfindel ignored the symbolic plea for silence. "You have created a monster, Kano," he said, returning unconsciously to the name of their youth, "and now you bait it mercilessly. Why?"

Maglor shrugged. "Why not?" He spoke lightly, but there was a shadow in his eyes that gave Glorfindel pause. "The game will end soon enough." 

"Soon enough for whom?" Glorfindel prodded, but Maglor had gone sullen and distant, as he always did when confronted. He picked up a jar of leather polish and set about cleaning and conditioning the grip of his knife, clearly intending to provoke Elladan by further delaying his demanded appearance.

Glorfindel shook his head in exasperation, his thoughts going back to the day he had found Maglor. That cold, grey day on the cusp of winter when everything had changed.

It had been a routine patrol, one of thousands just like it since the ending of the war and the sailing of many of the inhabitants of Imladris. The party of six, a number so small as to have once been considered a token force, had been heading for home when Glorfindel's keen eyes caught a flash of movement among the broken boulders that edged the river. Sliding from his horse to investigate, he had frowned at the seemingly empty stretch of tumbled rock for a long moment before another weak movement drew his eyes to a wretched figure huddled under a torn grey cloak. 

Elrohir's quick assessment had skipped over the elf's scratched face and filthy, tangled hair to focus on the festering knife wounds on his arms and chest, but Glorfindel had known him at once, recognized him despite the dirt and blood and all the cruel years since their last meeting.

"Macalaurë," he had whispered in disbelief, nodding in response to Elrohir's incredulous stare. "This is Maglor." 

 

*~*~*~*~*


	3. Baiting the Monster

## Baiting the Monster

Maglor's tap on the study door was more an acknowledgement of the convention than a request to enter, and he let himself in without waiting for a response. He stopped in front of the desk and stared at Elladan's splotchy face with complete disregard for the scowl he received in return. "What happened to _you_?" 

"Elrohir happened to me," Elladan retorted sharply. "I called for you nearly an hour ago, and asked that you come immediately. Where have you been?"

"Elrohir?" Maglor mused, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Then you no doubt deserved it. Very level headed, your brother is." He dropped into one of the lavishly padded chairs in front of the desk and looked at Elladan with an air of amused tolerance. "I have recently been at the armory with Glorfindel. Before that I was at the sparring field, and before that I was at breakfast. Before _that_ I was tied to-" He chuckled outright at Elladan's furious expression. "But now I am telling you what you already know, as you were there."

"Enough!" Elladan hissed angrily, his fingers tightening on the edge of the desk until his knuckles whitened. "When I send for you, I expect you to return with the messenger."

"I don't know why you would expect any such thing," Maglor replied with maddening magnanimity. "I am a guest in this fine valley and my time is my own. An hour seems quite a reasonable time frame in which to present myself to a ruler demanding audience."

_"YOU ARE NOT A GUEST!"_

Maglor's only response to the unexpected roar was the lifting of one eyebrow. "Indeed?" he queried calmly, that peculiar grin once again twisting his lips. "Then who am I? What would you call me, save a guest?"

Elladan opened his mouth as though to speak and then closed it with a snap, and Maglor smiled humorlessly. "Do not confuse who I am with what I choose to do, boy," he advised, and Elladan bristled at the faintly condescending note in Maglor's voice. 

"I am Lord of this realm and you will not refer to me as 'boy,' Elladan retorted coldly. He studied Maglor for a moment, then a spiteful smile curled his lips. "I wonder what the rest of Imladris would think of your proclivities?"

Maglor shook his head slightly, a flash of something that might have been amused pity lighting his eyes. "I daresay they would be far more interested in yours, _my lord_."

Elladan's face blanched but his voice was steady. "Do not toy with me," he said, his expression hardening as he made what they both knew to be an impotent threat. "I could have you escorted from the valley at swordpoint, if I chose."

Maglor laughed aloud, the sound startling in the fraught atmosphere. "Of course you could," he agreed cheerfully, his eyes glittering with challenge. "But you won't, will you, Elladan? Because it will be considerably more satisfying to punish me at knifepoint tonight."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	4. Unraveled

## Unraveled

Glorfindel sighed in resignation as he watched Elrohir, whose face was set in the stony mask that betrayed yet another argument with Elladan, storm into the stable. The tension between the twins had become suffocating of late, leaving those who watched the slow collapse of their bond feeling helpless and frustrated.

Closing the gate that Elrohir had left swinging in his haste, Glorfindel followed him to the stall Alagos occupied. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked conversationally, picking up a spare curry brush and setting to work on the grey stallion's already gleaming coat.

"No," Elrohir snapped, mirroring Glorfindel's movements on his mount's other side. They worked in silence for several moments, then Elrohir threw down his brush abruptly, leading Alagos into the main aisle. "What is there to say?" he demanded, as though there had been no break in the conversation. "That I don't know my brother anymore? That my sons are afraid of the uncle they used to idolize, or that my wife begs to sail?" Elrohir smiled bitterly. "That I doubt Dan would notice my absence, as long as he has his Kinslayer and his whips and chains?" He glared at Glorfindel. "We should have left Maglor on the Valar-forsaken riverbank."

"You don't mean that, 'Rohir."

Elrohir's eyes narrowed. "Don't I?" he growled, grabbing a handful of the horse's mane and vaulting onto its back. Smacking Alagos smartly on the rump, Elrohir sent them through the door and over the gate in a few expansive bounds. 

Glorfindel watched until Elrohir disappeared into the trees, then began to absently straighten the stall, letting his mind wander back over the year just past, trying to pinpoint the moment when it had all begun to unravel. 

Elladan had always 'liked it pretty rough,' as Erestor euphemistically put it - his diplomatic, carefully nonjudgmental tone leaving Glorfindel suppressing both a grin and the urge to ask exactly where Erestor got his information - but this caricature of a relationship with Maglor was beyond explanation.

Glorfindel sometimes wondered if they were lovers at all, or just grudging partners in some bizarre dance. 

In the beginning Maglor had been desperately ill, his injuries compounded by exposure and near-starvation, and Elladan had tended him almost constantly. As Maglor's condition improved and he moved beyond hesitant interactions with Glorfindel, his first cautious overtures had been toward the twins. Not unexpected, considering their lineage and likeness to Elrond. 

Glorfindel well understood the comfort of the familiar in a world suddenly strange.

It had all begun innocently enough, the twins listening to Maglor's white-washed stories of their father's youth and offering their own memories in return. But slowly, inexplicably, Elrohir's visits had dwindled and story time had turned to oddly intimate banter between Elladan and Maglor, exchanges that evaporated into whispers and meaningful looks in company, and Glorfindel had pushed aside a niggling sense of unease. There was no harm in conversation.

Then Maglor had left the healing halls, and the games had begun.

 

*~*~*~*~*


	5. At Knifepoint

## At Knifepoint

The room was nearly dark, the flickering light of the two oil lamps that flanked the bed throwing grotesque shadows that leapt and wavered and faded away into the blackness beyond. The shutters and windows and sitting room door were all firmly closed - a mostly symbolic gesture of placation toward Elrohir - and the still air was heavy with the mingled odors of sweat, sex, and blood. 

More unexpected, the scent of sandalwood danced lightly through the room, a disparate note in the overpowering miasma of anger and guilt and misery that filled the suite to bursting.

Elladan tugged sharply at the heavy braid that tickled his chest, pulling Maglor's head back in a parody of supplication. A pleasured mewl of anticipation rumbled from Maglor's chest and he strained against the straps that bound his wrists to the headboard, his body tightening forcibly. Elladan shuddered, dropping his head to lick at the sheen of moisture that gleamed on Maglor's neck. 

"Please...I swear..."

The edge of the knife danced lightly across sweat-slick skin and Maglor panted frantically as he strained toward the blade. Elladan twisted another loop of damp mahogany braid around his hand and pulled harder. 

But not quite hard enough. 

Maglor jerked forward with unexpected strength and the tip of the knife caught him just below the jaw, drawing a spurt of blood. Elladan swore soundly, tossing aside the blade and pressing his fingers tightly against the slight wound. " _Damn_ you!" he snarled, "You promised-"

"Already damned," Maglor gasped, his voice trembling with building tension as he writhed purposefully against the tautly held body behind him. "Fuck me instead."

Elladan's vision went red, clouded by a noxious mix of lust and anger and hurt, and he willingly obliged. 

Tugging loose the restraining strap, he let his weight bear them down and sank his teeth into the nape of Maglor's neck, a few savage thrusts bringing a mutual release that was more relief than pleasure.

Maglor shivered violently and Elladan shifted behind him, tightening his arms in an attempt to pull Maglor closer without further irritating his abused back. Elladan lightly touched the knife wound, relieved when he saw no fresh blood. Without thinking, he pushed Maglor's braid aside and pressed a gentle kiss to the bite marks that marred his neck.

The rejection was sudden and absolute.

"No," Maglor snapped, his body stiffening perceptibly. "Don't do that. Never do that."

Elladan went very still. "Your back will want seeing to," he said after a moment, his voice completely devoid of emotion. Disentangling himself, he stumbled into the bathing chamber and closed the door, turning to the mirror. 

His eyes wide and dark, he pressed one hand to the wall and stared. Maglor's blood smeared his chest and streaked his arms, rouged his lips and trickled in a drying rivulet from the corner of his mouth. 

Sparing one agonized groan for the bloodied stranger before him, Elladan fell to his knees and emptied his stomach onto the stone floor.

 

*~*~*~*~*


	6. Innocent Bystander

## Innocent Bystander

"Why are you sad, Uncle Ladan?" 

The elder of Elrohir's twin sons regarded him solemnly, but Elladan managed a strained smile. "What makes you think I am sad?" he countered, reaching up to ruffle the child's hair.

Élestel dropped to the ground and mimicked his uncle's posture - knees bent, arms wrapped, chin lowered - and stared out over the river. "Because you look like this."

Elladan drew his nephew into a one-armed hug, then shook his head, his eyes straying back to the water. The boy's dark hair gleamed red in the sun, as though paying homage to his mother's gilded coloring, but his stormy grey eyes and sharply angled face were all Elrohir. 

Elladan found the likeness vaguely disorienting.

"Uncle Ladan?"

"Sometimes," Elladan said haltingly, "you realize quite suddenly that something is not what you thought it was-"

Élestel nodded sagely. "Like when Cook made those little gingerbread cakes that looked like the ones Grandmother bakes. Ryn and I were excited, but then we bit into them and the frosting was sticky and they tasted funny."

Elladan smiled. "Something like that, yes."

"But that didn't really make us sad."

"Suppose," Elladan began carefully, "that you really liked Cook, even though she doesn't make good gingerbread, and you knew her feelings would be hurt if you didn't eat her cakes."

Élestel frowned. "I would feel bad."

"Or maybe you are afraid Cook's gingerbread is the only kind you can have now, and even though it is not what you really want, it is better than none at all."

"I-"

"What your uncle means is that sometimes the icing is foul, but the gingerbread is still compulsive eating," Elrohir said dryly, stepping into the clearing. "You are wanted in the library, Esti. Éleryn is waiting for you."

"But Ada-"

" _Now_ , son," Elrohir interrupted sternly, and Élestel shot his father a mutinous glare. "I love you, Uncle Ladan," he whispered, then gave Elladan a fierce hug before scurrying off toward the house.

"So I'm not really your type, but my son is?" Elrohir remarked scathingly. "Charming."

He regretted the words as soon as they were spoken, but it was too late.

Elladan launched himself with blinding speed, slamming Elrohir to the ground. They wrestled in a deadlock, equally matched in strength, neither willing to throw a punch, curses hanging in a cloud over their heads.

Then the futility of it all sparked Elrohir's memory, and he grinned.

"What is so damn fu-"

Just as he had a hundred times in childhood, Elrohir extended his tongue and licked the side of Elladan's face from jaw to temple. The effect was immediate and gratifying.

"Ewwww!" Elladan kicked and squirmed and scooted away, wiping at his face. "You son-of-a-warg-suckled-orc," he sputtered, rubbing his hands on his leggings, "that is disgusting!"

Elrohir's mouth twitched at the irony of the remark and, before he could speak, Elladan had jumped up and stomped into the woods. With a heavy sigh, Elrohir got to his feet and followed.

 

*~*~*~*~*


	7. On the Edge

## On the Edge

"'Dan?"

Elrohir slogged through the heavy underbrush, hissing in irritation as yet another low-hanging branch snagged his already dirty tunic, the delay allowing his light shoes to sink deeper into the soft earth beneath the tangle of wet weeds and brambles. He had come directly from the library, and was poorly dressed for wrestling - or chasing a recalcitrant twin through woods left waterlogged by recent rains.

Elladan, on the other hand, had come to wander and was well-prepared for the terrain, so it was with some annoyance but little surprise that Elrohir watched him disappear into the heavier trees ahead.

Luckily, he had a very good idea where his brother was headed.

"Elladan!"

His calls unacknowledged, Elrohir pushed on through the thicket, breathing a sigh of relief when the dense copse of trees ended abruptly, spilling him onto a rocky knob high above the valley floor. He blinked in the suddenly bright light, his heart plummeting as he surveyed the apparently empty clearing, then he caught sight of Elladan.

At such proximity the roar of the falls was almost a physical force, but Elladan seemed oblivious to it. He stood on the very edge of the ragged stone cliffs, his back to Elrohir, his sturdy boots planted on the wet rocks and his eyes trained on the rushing water. Elrohir moved close enough to see the beaded mist hanging on his brother's braid before Elladan spoke. "Go away."

Elrohir shook his head. "No."

Elladan whirled on him, slapping aside the placating hand Elrohir had extended. "Leave me alone, Elrohir," he barked. "I am sick of your harping and I certainly don't need your advice." He glared at his brother. "Just go."

"Or what?" Elrohir snipped in return. "You'll jump to a glorious death that will live on in song long after your idiocy is forgotten?" 

Elladan's gaze strayed back out over the water, and the thoughtful expression that flitted across his face made Elrohir's gut twist sickeningly.

"That would solve most of _your_ problems, wouldn't it?" Elladan spat bitterly. "Elrohir and his perfect little family living in a perfect world. No more inconvenient questions, no more interrupted sleep, no more embarrassing scenes-"

"By all that is holy...I ought to push you over the bloody falls myself!" Elrohir snapped, grabbing his brother's arm and dragging him none too gently back onto safer ground.

The edge of a precipice was no place for an argument.

" _My_ problems? I think _your_ problems are the issue here, 'Dan," he continued, exasperation sharpening his voice, "but both sets would be solved by removing the chains from the walls and Maglor from your bed!"

"I can't do that," Elladan shot back angrily. "Not even for you."

"Can't or won't, tôren?" Elrohir retorted, struggling in vain to keep the sarcastic edge from his voice.

All of the fight seemed to drain from Elladan, leaving his face drawn and pale. "Both, 'Roh," he replied tiredly, pushing his way past Elrohir to head back into the woods. "Both."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	8. The Bluff

## The Bluff

The Hall was scarcely half as full as it might have been in Elrond's day, but the fire was warm and the conversation pleasant, so Glorfindel allowed the first observation to pass unvoiced, instead drawing Elrohir's attention to the gathering's most unexpected guest. 

Maglor.

He was hardly at the center of the festivities, sitting as he was in a shadowed corner away from the glow of the fire, but Maglor listened to Lindir's latest composition with obvious interest, and only occasionally glanced toward the open doors, his face so carefully expressionless that Glorfindel could not be sure whether he awaited someone's arrival or dreaded the same. 

Then that peculiar, self-mocking smile once again twisted Maglor's lips, and Glorfindel followed his gaze to the Hall's entry.

Elladan paused just inside the doors, and at first Glorfindel thought him reticent to join the gathering, having been so many months outside the social center of the valley. Elrohir's long-suffering sigh told another story and, after a second glance at the juxtaposition of black leather and half-buttoned silk, Glorfindel was inclined to agree. Though the Hall had not witnessed such a blatant display in many years - perhaps even since Elrond's sailing - he recognized the signs, too.

Elladan was hunting.

At first Glorfindel watched Maglor watch Elladan, puzzled by the vaguely amused tolerance that seemed Maglor's reaction to his lover's prowling. Anger or hurt Glorfindel could have understood. Even complete indifference, considering the apparent lacking in their relationship. But Maglor looked on with the indulgent expression of a man watching a fondly regarded pup, and Glorfindel found himself unexpectedly irritated with his friend.

And almost as irritated with Elladan himself, who was drinking far too much for anyone's safety and working the room like a tavern whore.

The young musician he finally closed in on looked both terrified and elated, her fierce blush and wide eyes putting Glorfindel in mind of a rabbit cornered by a wolf. She didn't stand a chance.

"A word, please," Glorfindel said as he caught Elladan's arm, giving the crestfallen girl an apologetic smile. Hauling his captive into the shadows, he trapped Elladan against the wall. "Looking for courage in a bottle this evening? I know what you are up to, Elrondion."

"Indeed?" Elladan purred, pausing to drain his glass. "Are you interested, captain?"

"Only in saving you from yourself," Glorfindel replied calmly, setting the empty glass on a table. "Go to bed, 'Adan. You will be glad of it in the morning." 

"Alone?"

Glorfindel's exasperated response was cut short by a firm hand that eased him away from Elladan. 

"Unless I sorely miscounted the drinks you've killed in the last hour, young one," Maglor interjected wryly, "I doubt it will make much difference tonight. Come along and I'll tuck you in." 

Glorfindel stepped up protectively. "I'll go with you, Kano."

Maglor sighed, slipping a supportive arm around Elladan. "I am not going to hurt him, Glorfindel," he murmured.

"I believe," Glorfindel retorted pointedly, "that you already have."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	9. Morning After

## Morning After

Elladan woke reluctantly, his pounding headache and the wretched taste in his mouth assuring him that that in one manner, at least, the evening had been a roaring success. He had managed to get utterly and unapologetically drunk for the first time in nearly a century. 

Elrohir was probably having an absolute fit at the breakfast table. 

Or had already done so, Elladan amended, forcing his scratchy eyes open to find the room flooded with sunlight before quickly closing them again. He lay perfectly still, struggling to piece together the bits of the evening. Elladan had vague memories of too much wine, Elrohir's disapproving stare, and Lindir's lithe, breathlessly agreeable protégé. Here his musings faltered. It was hard to reconcile the ethereal grace of his chosen quarry with the solid bulk of the body that was spooned behind him and the strength of the arm that lay draped over his hip. 

Obviously some things had not gone as planned.

Then the restraining arm was lifted, a gentle hand smoothed his hair, and he felt the tentative brush of lips against his temple. Elladan swallowed a blissful sigh and tried to ignore the faint ache in his chest. Soon he would have to face the morning's awkwardness and the guilt that already reared its head, but, just for a moment, he allowed himself the luxury of pretending it was Maglor who held him.

The expected insistent urge ended his indulgence and Elladan stretched lazily, only to be startled fully awake by the sudden disappearance of the warmth at his back. By the time he mastered his churning stomach enough to roll over, Maglor was sitting on the edge of the bed, an expression of chiding amusement on his face. "I do believe it wakes," Maglor drawled, not unkindly.

Elladan stared gracelessly, his muddled mind unable to make sense of the morning's perplexities. "What are you doing here?"

Maglor's grin twisted. "This is, in fact, my assigned cage," he replied wryly, and tossed Elladan a robe. "Do you need help?"

"No," Elladan answered, shaking his head with regrettable vigor, then slowly pulling himself into a sitting sprawl to slip on his robe. "No, I can manage." He stumbled in the direction of the bathing chamber, returning several minutes later looking only marginally more comfortable.

"You'll remember Elrond's tonic," Maglor said, helping Elladan off with his robe and pressing a glass of yellow-green liquid into his hand. 

Elladan obediently gulped down the foul concoction and collapsed onto the bed. "Thank you," he mumbled, throwing an arm across his face to block out the light as he waited for the drink to take effect. He felt himself sliding back into oblivion and the bed creaked, then his arm was carefully lowered and the blanket was drawn up and tucked snugly around him. The whisper of a kiss brushed his forehead, and he struggled to open his eyes. "What-"

"Shhh," Maglor soothed. "Sleep. I'll bring your breakfast."

The door closed softly, and Elladan was alone.

 

*~*~*~*~*


	10. Checkmate

## Checkmate

Maglor carried the tray carefully, trying to ignore the curious looks that followed him from the dining hall into the corridor and back to Elladan's suite. Glorfindel's poorly concealed smirk, coming, as it did, close on the heels of Elrohir's obvious amazement, was the final indignity, and Maglor slipped through the door, closing it behind him with considerably more force than necessary.

The slamming door jerked Elladan unceremoniously out of his dreams and he blinked owlishly, trying to reorient himself. The room was more softly lit and his head pounded less violently, leading him to surmise that it was probably well past mid-morning - perhaps even after noon, by the growling of his stomach. Maglor came into the bedchamber, plopping the tray down on a small table, and Elladan sat up and eyed him cautiously, fuzzy recollections of waking to affectionate touches at odds with the expression of studied indifference on Maglor's face. 

"I brought you bread and fruit," Maglor said, setting aside the tray's cover. "I did not think anything heavier would sit well."

"Probably not," Elladan agreed with a rueful chuckle, his smile fading when Maglor made no response. There was a somewhat awkward silence, then he added, "Thank you for your trouble."

"I was in the dining hall, anyway," Maglor replied, shrugging offhandedly. "It required no special effort."

Elladan nodded, willing away a stab of disappointment as he pulled on his robe and moved to the table. After buttering a chunk of bread and wolfing it down to pacify his complaining stomach, he picked up the teapot. "Will you have some tea? There is plenty here to share."

"I said I have already eaten," Maglor snapped irritably. "Do try to listen."

Elladan stared, his usually quick tongue hobbled by equal parts lagging comprehension and frank astonishment.

Perhaps he _had_   been dreaming.

"And do try to show a little sense next time," Maglor advised, his tone turned mocking. "You might have disappointed the lady. There is little use in prowling when you are too drunk to perform, boy."

Elladan moved with preternatural speed and the force of the blow knocked Maglor off his feet, leaving him crouched against the bedstead, his arms raised defensively.

"I am not a _boy_ , Maglor," Elladan snarled, his fists clenching repeatedly. "I am the man who nightly flays your back and spills your blood and then pounds you through the mattress. And I am sick of your daylight taunting and condescension." 

"Someone is feeling better," Maglor said wryly, dabbing at his busted lip even as his mouth twisted into that peculiar grin. "Now you are acting more like yourself."

"No, I am not!" Elladan spat savagely, visibly struggling to rein in his temper. "I am not acting more myself. I am acting more the person you seem to want me to be, more the monster you have created!"

"Are you sure?" Maglor challenged quietly, rising to his feet. "Perhaps, _my lord_ , I have merely introduced you to the monster who was always there."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	11. Confrontation

## Confrontation

Elladan was silent for a long moment, his eyes never leaving Maglor's face. "No," he said at last, vaguely surprised by his own composure, "no, you have not." 

Maglor shifted restlessly under the considering stare, discomfited by the eerie calm that seemed to have possessed Elladan. "Don't pretend that you do not enjoy the games, boy," he sneered, his aggressive step forward putting him well within striking range.

But Elladan would not be provoked. "I don't deny that I enjoy the games," he replied quietly, "or at least I _did_ enjoy them, when I thought there was something worth having beneath the veneer of blood and pain." He shook his head, an expression of honest curiosity on his face. "Do you feel anything at all for me, Maglor? Besides the occasional burst of contempt?"

"Does it matter?"

Elladan considered the question, ignoring the snide tone of its asking. "Yes," he answered after a moment's thought, "I believe it does." He chewed his lip, eyeing Maglor closely. "This morning you seemed almost affectionate - in truth, I did not realize it was you holding me when I first woke."

Maglor snorted derisively, despite the faint coloring of his cheeks, but Elladan did not give him time to speak.

"I wished it to be you, even though I believed such a fancy impossible."

Maglor looked away briefly, then turned back to Elladan, his crooked grin firmly in place. "And I suppose you will soon be declaring your love for me from the rooftops?"

Elladan's smile held a touch of sadness. "I wouldn't go quite so far as that. But you are important to me, Maglor." He took a deep breath, "I care about you, I _want-_ "

"You want to help me, no doubt," Maglor interrupted wryly, "to save me, like everyone else throughout the ages. Everyone who did not prefer to kill me, that is. People tend to take extreme stands, in my case." 

"Must you make a joke of everything?" Elladan demanded, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. "Honestly, I have been tempted to join the 'killing' camp once or twice over the past year." He stopped, gathering his thoughts. "I do not believe you need saving, Maglor. I was going to say that I _want_ to love you." Maglor stood motionless, seemingly spelled, and Elladan stepped closer, raising a hand to his cheek. "That I want you to care for me."

Maglor jerked away as though scalded.

 _"Do you not understand?"_ he shouted, his defenses unexpectedly collapsing. "I am damned, Elladan. Damned to remain here and watch the seasons turn and men die and everything familiar crumble to dust around me." Maglor shuddered, and his voice was unsteady when he continued. "I cannot love you. I cannot let myself love someone who will soon leave me forever."

Elladan swallowed thickly. "Fair enough. But can you at least _like_ me a bit?"

Maglor's lips twisted in a sad echo of his usual grin. "I believe I may manage, yes."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	12. Between Brothers

## Between Brothers

Elrohir grabbed the handle and shook the door to his former suite violently, though it was, of course, bolted.

What he would have done had the door opened, he had no clear idea.

The ruckus from within, the muffled cursing and keening, the clank of metal and the sharp snap of braided leather, continued unabated, occasionally punctuated by a deep, muted rumble that Elrohir recognized at once, though whether his brother's voice was lifted in laughter or anger he could not tell.

In either case, the sound left him unsettled and slightly nauseous, and he raised his fist and pounded again on the heavy door. "For the love of...keep it down, Elladan! Do you want the whole bloody house to listen?"

The noises seeping from Elladan's chambers ended abruptly, and for a moment Elrohir could vaguely hear the more innocent sounds coming from his own rooms - snatches of childish laughter, the splash of water, Galueth's gentle chiding - and he offered up a brief thanks for large tubs and evening baths. At least his sons were not listening curiously, storing up yet another spate of difficult questions. 

Elrohir was turning to go when the door popped open, leaving him face to face with his brother and at a complete loss for words.

"Yes?" 

Elrohir stared for a moment, his eyes drawn from Elladan's tightly braided hair to his sweat-damp chest and snug leather leggings, then finally, unwillingly, to the coiled whip in his gloved hand. "I-I didn't really expect you to come to the door." 

"You _did_   knock," Elladan pointed out, the flash of amusement in his darkened eyes and his wry tone both startling and oddly reminiscent of their youth. "Repeatedly and rather loudly."

Elrohir blinked, drawn for a brief instant back into the days when Elladan's two-minute head start at birth had been the bane of his existence and the tinder for a great deal of brotherly feuding. 

And Elladan's steadfast support one of the unquestioned facts of his life.

"I'm surprised you heard me over the entertainment," Elrohir retorted defensively, still unbalanced but bracing himself for a verbal battle.

Elladan's eyes narrowed and for a moment it seemed he would lash out, then he drew a deep breath and shrugged slightly. "My mistake, tôren. I'm afraid I neglected to shut the inner door before the _entertainment_ -" he paused, letting the word linger uncomfortably between them, "began this evening. I trust you will relay my apologies to Galueth, as well, if she has been distressed in any manner?" 

Elrohir looked at his brother sharply, but Elladan's unusually contrite expression seemed real enough. "I will," he agreed, then honesty forced him to add, "but she is bathing the twins, so I doubt she was disturbed."

"Very good," Elladan said. "I will wish you good night, then." There was a plaintive call from the lamp-lit darkness behind, and the corners of Elladan's mouth curled wickedly as he retreated into his suite. "And I promise to close the bedchamber door."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	13. His Choices

## His Choices

"And he came to the door - to the _door_ ," Elrohir repeated for emphasis, pausing to take a steadying gulp of his wine, "looking like...like-"

"Like someone engaged in a private activity best left uninterrupted?" Galueth offered, closing the door to the boys' room before sitting down beside her flustered husband. 

"Yes!"

"Did you expect him to take time to change?" 

Elrohir slammed down the empty goblet and glared at his wife. "I didn't expect him to answer at all!"

"But you did knock," Galueth observed mildly, her half-hidden smile so like her father's that Elrohir had to close his eyes to dispel the image.

The last thing he needed was visions of Thranduil invading his bedchamber.

"To let 'Dan know that he was audible in the hall, not to bring him to the door dressed like a Haradrim slave trader!" Elrohir retorted a bit peevishly. "Whose side are you on, anyway, woman?"

Galueth shook her head, all amusement gone from her expression. "Oh, 'Rohir, don't you see? There _are_ no sides." She reached out and laid a calming hand on her husband's arm. "This is not about you and Elladan. Not any longer. If there is still a battle to be fought, it is not yours."

Elrohir stared at her in disbelief. "You cannot possibly approve of what he is doing, Galu."

Galueth hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "I have come to understand that it is not my place to approve or disapprove of his choices-"

_"Choices?"_

"Yes, _choices_." She touched Elrohir's hand. "I did not like our children witnessing what has gone on here in the past months. It broke my heart to watch the rift widening between you and Elladan and, in truth, at one time I would have sailed without you, if you would have agreed, but-"

Elrohir studied his wife curiously. "But?"

"But things have changed, even if they have not changed as much as we might wish. Can't you feel it?" 

Elrohir nodded reluctantly. "I suppose I can."

"You might not care for his choice of partner or path, but he needs you, 'Rohir." Galueth sighed. "I'm afraid he will need you sorely before this all ends."

Something in her tone sent a whisper of foreboding crawling along Elrohir's spine. "What do you mean, before this all ends? 'Dan may be misbehaving, but he is not a fool. It is only a game, Galu."

Galueth looked at him sympathetically. 

"What?" Elrohir cocked one eyebrow at his wife. "And don't say 'nothing,' because I recognize that look. It is the same look your mother gave me when I let Legolas talk me into dancing that never-ending woodland jig."

A ripple of laughter met Elrohir's observation, and he smiled despite himself. That had been the year of their betrothal. Reaching for Galueth's hand, he repeated, "What?"

"I think Elladan wants more than Maglor has to give."

"Such as?"

"Such as what we have, 'Rohir," Galueth said gently. "Love, affection." She paused to squeeze Elrohir's fingers. "Forever." 

 

*~*~*~*~*


	14. Season's Turning

## Season's Turning

_~Imladris 120 IV~_

Elladan shook his head vehemently, a faint gleam of what might have been rising hysteria visible in his eyes. "No. Not yet. I am not ready. _Not yet_." He spun around and fled the room, Elrohir close behind.

Arwen's letter lay where it had been dropped, a deceptively innocent square of creamy white on the dark, gleaming surface of Elladan's desk.

Glorfindel reached for the heavy parchment and silently read the words written there in the Queen's embellished script. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

_My dearest brothers,_

_Estel grows tired and will give back his life before the season's turning. I would be glad of your presence at the ending of our journey._

_Yours, as always,  
Arwen_

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

So few words, really, to herald such grief, such total transformation of so many lives as was to come, and they sounded no less harsh in his mind than they had only moments before, read aloud in Elladan's trembling voice.

"I should go after them," Glorfindel said, but he hesitated uncertainly, the words a question rather than a statement, and Erestor shook his head.

"Give them some time," he advised, reaching for the letter himself, as though there was some refuge in the practical act of reading, some comfort to be found in the familiar curls and fripperies of Arwen's handwriting. "'Rohir must tell Galueth and the twins-"

"And Elladan?"

Erestor dropped the note back on the desk and touched Glorfindel's arm. "We really should find Maglor." He bit his lip thoughtfully. "Unless that is where 'Adan is headed?"

"I shouldn't think so," Glorfindel answered slowly. "Not yet, anyway." 

"Maglor must be told about the letter, and soon," Erestor said. "Otherwise he will hear of it from the valley gossips first."

"I didn't think you liked him."

"I _don't_ like him," Erestor retorted wryly. "I detested Maglor then, I am little fonder of him now, and I think the side of Elladan he delights in provoking could do without encouragement." He sighed. "I don't like him, but he will be as deeply affected as anyone in the valley, and he should be told, not left to hear that his world is ending from the local fishwives."

Glorfindel nodded soberly. "Kano deserves better. He always has."

Erestor begged to differ, but his tart rejoinder died unspoken before the sadness in his lover's eyes. "It would perhaps come best from you," he suggested, then his mouth twisted in a rueful smile. "I'll try to find 'Adan and spare the soul who stumbles onto him."

A touch of mirth returned to Glorfindel's face. "I've been meaning to ask," he teased, "how _did_ you come to be so well-informed about Elladan's quirks and kinks?"

Erestor shrugged, his eyes twinkling. "You know how it is in the Hall. One night not long after I arrived, 'Adan was a bit overly ambitious and I was a bit drunk-"

Glorfindel stared in open-mouthed shock. "You didn't. Tell me you-"

Erestor burst into laughter. "Don't be so gullible," he said cheekily. "Knowing things is my business."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	15. Just This Once

## Just This Once 

Maglor made his way up the hillside, his thoughts and emotions as tightly controlled as ever despite the echo of Glorfindel's somber announcement still lingering in his ears.

_There has been a letter from Arwen..._

Though there had been several letters from Arwen since his arrival, Maglor had known from the expression on his friend's face that this was different. This was _the_ letter - the summons that all of Imladris had been awaiting with varying degrees of dread and anticipation for the past decade, the first step of a journey that would, for many of them, end on unknown shores.

The first note of the silent dirge that would mark the end of Maglor's world.

Maglor paused, cautiously allowing the bitter thought to grow in an unexpected direction. A dirge. He had not composed anything, save in his head, since Maedhros died, and the faint strains of the simple yet haunting melody with which he had lamented his elder brother swelled in his memory, recalling also the sense of comfort the song had offered in a time of devastating sorrow. Perhaps he could create an ode to honor Arwen's passing - to honor _their_ passing - that would offer some measure of that peace to those who were left behind.

He did, after all, know a great deal about being left behind.

Elladan stood exactly where Erestor had predicted he would be, a motionless figure silhouetted against the rush of foaming water that cascaded into the chasm below. Though he made no effort to move silently, Maglor was little more than a step away when at last Elladan spoke. "Leave me alone, Erestor," he said, his voice toneless. "There is nothing else to say. Arwen will die-"

"-and you will grieve," Maglor interrupted. Startled, Elladan turned to face him. "You will rant and curse and weep, and then you will go on, because there is no other choice." He glanced at the rocky precipice at Elladan's feet and smiled grimly. "No other acceptable choice."

"What do _you_ know of it?" Elladan spat, and Maglor's smile faded.

"More than you do, boy," he retorted sharply, his hand closing on Elladan's arm, "or do you imagine that I loved my brothers less than you treasure Arwen and Elrohir?"

Elladan was suddenly aware of both the magnitude of his mistake and the strength in the hand that wrapped his forearm. He had gone too far, crossed some boundary that Maglor had drawn in the shifting sand. The realization settled heavily in his already aching chest. "No, of course not," he managed, straining against both Maglor's grip and his own despair. "I am sorry. Please, just go."

Maglor loosened his hold, studying Elladan's face intently. "I don't think you want to be alone now."

"I cannot have what I want."

Maglor sighed, pulling Elladan into a somewhat awkward embrace. "Just this once, perhaps," he whispered, running Elladan's braid through his fingers. "Besides, there is a song I would like to sing for you."

 

*~*~*~*~*


	16. Truth and Other Lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  ***A/N:** I left this chapter at 1,000 words, rather than 500, for reasons I hope will be clear in the reading. It also requires what the lovely Keiliss eloquently calls a 'sensitive souls' warning. I hope I might be forgiven for both offenses. 
> 
> Thanks for holding my hand, Kei. ♥
> 
> *****************************

## Truth and Other Lies 

_~Eriador 120 IV~_

Elrohir had fallen back to ride beside Galueth, his thoughts still lingering in the fading woods of Lórien, though his horse carried him toward Mithlond.

Estel and Arwen were gone, and the sea called.

In front rode his sons, flanked by Elladan and Glorfindel, and the twins' constant stream of questions lightened the company's mood, despite the painful partings just past and the spectre of those to come.

Maglor rode slightly ahead, off to Elladan's right, and, though he still hummed the song he had composed for Arwen, a melody that acknowledged both the sorrow of her death and the joy of her life, his face was once again a completely expressionless mask.

Elrohir idly wondered if Maglor's heart was equally empty, earning himself a sharp 'tut' from Galueth. "I didn't say a word," he murmured under his breath, reaching over to squeeze her knee.

"You didn't have to," she whispered. "I read it on your face. Leave them be, 'Rohir."

Elrohir glanced to the front and saw that the twins had ridden out some small distance ahead of Elladan and Glorfindel. Ready to shout a reprimand at his sons, he heard Elladan sternly order the boys to pull up their horses and stand. Smiling slightly at the speed with which they obeyed their uncle's command, he turned his attention back to Galueth. "I am, but-"

Elrohir's answering jibe was cut off abruptly by a terrified scream and the next few moments, which would live forever in his memory, unfolded in agonizingly slow motion. He let out a howl of outrage and spurred his mount sharply, but the horse's feet seemed mired in clay, so quickly did the ambush unfold.

A dozen or so unkempt Men, slashing wildly with their crude blades, poured from the bushes toward the twins. There was a roar and a flash of roan and steel and Maglor threw himself upon the attackers. Elladan and Glorfindel surged forward, drawing their swords, Elrohir close behind them, and the boys' mounts bolted, carrying their dazed riders to relative safety.

The Men soon lay dead, and Erestor was bringing the scant rearguard forward to help with the clean-up when the inexplicably placed glint of sunlight on honed metal caught his eye, and he instinctively shouted a warning. "'Adan! Behind you!"

There was a blur of motion, followed by a soft thud and the _thwap_ of an arrow finding its mark, and Elladan looked in confusion from the man lying beside the road with Erestor's arrow in his throat to the hilt of the throwing knife that protruded from just below Maglor's ribcage. "What..."

Elladan caught Maglor as he fell, easing him to the ground with a frantic shout that brought Elrohir running. Blindly reaching for the knife hilt, Elladan found his trembling hand caught in his brother's firm grip.

"No, 'Dan," Elrohir said gently, glancing at Maglor's blanched face and the trickle of blood that seeped from the corner of his mouth. "Don't. You will take what little time he has left." Elladan's eyes were wide with anguished disbelief, and Elrohir's heart ached for him. "You should say what needs saying, tôren." He stepped away slightly, holding off the others with a sharp look.

"Why?" Elladan demanded hoarsely, his touch kinder than his tone as he smoothed Maglor's hair. "You said you never wanted to be a hero."

Maglor grimaced, then a trace of his usual grin curled his lips. "Better this way. Hate long goodbyes."

"You blasted fool," Elladan said, his voice cracking as he reached for Maglor's hand. " _I love you._ I wasn't going to sail! I was going to stay with you."

Maglor's smile softened. "I know," he whispered. "My gift to your father. Tell Elrond that I loved him. Tell him...that I loved you." Maglor coughed, and his face paled further. "Don't let them bury me here," he rasped urgently, his voice so weak that Elladan had to put his ear to Maglor's lips to make out the words. "Not...in this...accursed...land. Want...to burn. Set...me...free." His fingers twitched in Elladan's hand. "Promise?"

Elladan nodded numbly, and Maglor died.

They built his pyre on a ledge overlooking the river, and while Elrohir and Glorfindel and Erestor were permitted to heft logs and pile tinder, Elladan refused all other aid. He removed the knife and straightened Maglor's clothes and hair, and if anyone noticed the length of mahogany braid that wrapped his wrist, or the curious brightness of his eyes, nothing was said.

Elladan chose the marking stone and lit the fire and stood beside the pyre through the long night and into the morning, tending the ferocious blaze until everything was consumed save the blackened stone that stood as testament to an immortal life ended. He slowly reached for an arrow, only to have his hand pushed aside, and he whirled on Elrohir angrily. "How dare-"

The blue-and-grey feathered arrow snapped cleanly in half and Elrohir dropped it near the scorched stone, marking the pyre as that of a fallen warrior. "Maglor saved my sons and my twin," he said soberly. "It is the least I can offer." First laying a cautious hand on Elladan's shoulder, Elrohir abruptly pulled him into a rough embrace, releasing him reluctantly a long moment later. "Our ship is waiting."

Elladan swallowed painfully. "Just a bit longer? Please, 'Roh."

Elrohir nodded and moved away, though whether to give his brother the illusion of privacy or grant himself a moment's respite from the despair in Elladan's eyes he could not say.

Elladan dropped to his knees beside the extinguished pyre, sifting the warm ash through his fingers and setting it adrift on the freshening wind. Slipping a small leather pouch from his cloak pocket, he tossed aside whatever dried herb had once seemed important and filled the pouch with a scant handful of ashes, tucking it into the breast pocket of his jerkin, nestling it near his heart.

He slowly rose to his feet, turned his back on the pyre, and walked away.

 

*~*~*~*~*


End file.
